


Cooporation

by HelloSkip



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Bunker, Crossdressing, F/M, Femdom, He's probably a witch, Magic, Pegging, Strap-Ons, Unauthorized Copulation, Written post episode 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 18:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloSkip/pseuds/HelloSkip
Summary: The reader has her interview.  It goes badly, until it doesn't.





	Cooporation

**Author's Note:**

> Look, he's too darn pretty and he's probably the antichrist. May as well peg him. It's not like it's that far from canon at this point. Written after watching episode two, so future episodes may make it defunct.

                Recent culture hadn’t promised much, but it at least assured that the end was going to be exciting.  It was, briefly, you suppose as that damn song loops back around.  You hadn’t expected cubes or Victorian garb or extreme radiation, but nuclear winter was taking a toll on everyone.  Ironically, the loneliness battered you the worse.  You were used to being on your own and sharing living quarters should have brought you closer to humanity.  Instead it felt more isolating than being a shut-in. 

                Friendship became a survival tool; you tolerated most of the other Purples for the long months, attempting to seem warm enough to create as much amity as possible.  The initial bickering had been slightly amusing until around month three.  Dinah’s stories of guests past started as a welcome diversion, but even her tales of Lana Winters began to bore.  You mostly avoided Venable and Mead, still managing to politely smile in their presence despite questioning their strictness.  Sex that could result in pregnancy seemed like a bad idea, given the limited rations and lack of medical facilities, but absolutely no copulation?  Not even a quick fingering or blowjob behind closed doors?  Draconian and senseless.

                Not that the selection of partners was terribly wide.  Timothy and Emily were a terribly kept secret.  The other male Purples had no interest in your entire gender, and while you weren’t averse to same-sex relations no one really seemed worth a bullet.  The Grays barely seemed alive; you didn’t want to imagine what rations they received.  Relations with any of them felt like taking advantage of someone in an even wore situation you found yourself in.  You kept reminding yourself that you were one of the lucky ones and tried to suppress the part of you that craved touch and affection.

                Then he arrived.

                _No port in the storm is worth it_ , you kept thinking as Michael spoke of his mission, of salvation.  Other outposts were gone, overrun by things you decided not to dwell on.   Part of you didn’t believe a sanctuary existed, another needed for it to be true.  Things were going downhill and something had to change, quickly.  The notion of an interview deciding the fate of humanity felt about as ridiculous as wearing bloomers and a corset daily but damn it if wasn’t the only possible way out.  You tried to keep your thoughts at the goal at hand, not at the new arrival’s jawline or smooth voice.  You made it this far, a few more days of this brutal regime could be tolerated.

                Your turn soon arrived, and you were led into the large room with Michael.  The fireplace crackled as you sat down in front of the large desk, Michael taking seat on the other side.  You tried to steel yourself, reminding yourself that your life was in the balance, but all you could focus on was Michael’s charming smile and entrancing eyes.  _Never realized that color happened in nature_ , you thought softly before shaking it out of your mind. 

                He gave you a spiel about the mysterious rubric and lying that felt well-rehearsed and familiar.  _More rules_ , you sighed, _great_.  You must of slumped unconsciously, as his eyes tightened on you and that damn smirk came back.

                “How rude of me, rushing into thing,” he lilted as he stood, smoothing his shirt as he walked to the small sitting area near the fireplace.  Your gaze followed his movements, hoping you were somewhat subtle in running your eyes across his form.  He strolled back to the desk after grabbing a glass of liquid you hadn’t noticed.  Holding it by the rim, he offered it to you while leaning against the front of the desk.  “Have a drink.  You will be talking for quite some time.”

                You didn’t question the order, taking a sip.  It was plain water yet didn’t taste as stale as the water you’d become used to in the bunker; it tasted fresh, almost sweet.  You took another long sip before leaning forward and placing it on the desk by Michael, careful not to brush your hand by his hip.  Tilting your head back up to meet his eyes, you realized he hadn’t taking his eyes off you as you drank.

                “Now, to business.  How would you describe your time here?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

                “Fine, as fine as it could be,” you answered evenly, “although a change of scenery sounds magnificent about now.”

                “I’m sure,” Michael smiled, tapping his fingers along the edge of the desk.  “Being in one place for too long does not suit everyone.  Tell me, how have you contributed to your environment?”

                “As much as one can,” you replied, not sure how one could contribute to such a rigid place.  “I’ve managed to stay on everyone’s good side.  Read, mostly.  Books might combust any day now, may as well read them while I can.”

                His amused expression persisted, didn’t let up.  “You’re not used to this, are you?”  His voice stayed light but something felt off.

                “I, I don’t understand the question,” you said.  “Define this.”

                “Taking orders,” he said with slightly more force.  “Obeying.  Not questioning or resisting.”

                “It’s necessary now.”  You didn’t believe your words, and based on Michael’s scoff, he didn’t either.

                “You don’t think you belong here,” he said as he walked back behind the desk and sat down.  He looked at his fingernails, seemingly disinterested in the conversation.  More disrespect from the higher-ups.  It was infuriating.

                “No, I don’t belong in a cage,” you replied hotly, “no one does.”  This seemed to pique his interest, as he returned his sight to you.

                “It’s a cage or certain death.”  That same even voice.  Same smile.  Everything was the same.  It was enough.  You stood, pushing the chair out from behind you.

                “Look, you want honesty?  You clearly know what’s going on.  This pageantry is pointless,” you spat, leaning over and grabbing the desk with your gloved hands.  “You or someone have already made a decision, it’s obvious.  Make your damn notes, stop wasting my time, and let me get back to counting down time until horrors come to eat my face.”  You shook your head in frustration as you headed to the door, content in your failure to perform.  Before you reached the door, a hand grabbed your wrist.  The sudden touch, even through gloves, felt electric.  You gasped as you stopped, turning toward the blond man.

                “We have a use for those like you,” Michael said, voice deepening.  A chill went through you; your thoughts immediately turned to the worst-case scenario.

                “I’m nobody’s broodmare,” you warned as you snatched your hand away.  Michael let out a small laugh as he walked back to the desk; you followed, pulled by something unexplainable, and sat back in the chair.

                “We need aggression, predators, people who want to survive Armageddon,” Michael explained as he looked down at you.  “People who know what they want and take it.  Tell me,” his voice lowered as he knelt down to meet your gaze.  “What do you want?”  His lips looked incredibly soft.  Incredibly close.  Incredibly attainable. 

                “What I want is incompatible with survival,” you said with a hint of sadness, dropping your eyes to the floor.  Fingers lightly touched your chin and brought your gaze back up to meet green tipped with red.  Your breath hitched; you hadn’t felt this kind of hope in months.

                “The rules here are stage dressing,” he murmured, eyes flicking from your gaze to your lips, “you can easily have what you want if you take it.”

                _What you want_ was all you heard before you snapped.  Grabbing his wrists, you stood and pinned him against the desk with your hands and hips before crushing your lips against his.  You inhaled sharply as you bit his plush lower lip, feeling parts of your mind spark that you forgot could.  He smelled amazing, like oak and fire and everything you missed about the living world.  Pulling back, you tilted your forehead against his as you caught your breath.  “We can’t risk,” you babbled, hoping he would catch on, “I can’t risk—”

                “Being filled?” he breathed.  You felt his wrists flex, fingers splay and contract before the air cracked around your lungs, forcing your eyes shut.  “We both know there are better options.”  You fumbled back, feeling unsure of your footing but managing to land back the armchair.

                Opening your eyes felt difficult but understanding what happened was harder.  You could feel cool air against your skin, looking down to see your dress gone.  Still clothed in your corset, you felt something familiar around your hips, against your ass, inside you.  A harness, black with silver trim, scintillating in the flicking light like snakeskin fit snuggly against you.  Reaching a hand down you felt the sizable dildo jutting out from you before reaching lower to confirm your suspicions.  A small mound reached inside of you, feeling glorious as you tentatively clenched before looking back to Michael with confusion.  No longer by the desk, your gaze followed a small throat clearing to the sofa by the fireplace.  Michael leaned against the back of the white sofa, blond hair flowing and smile ever present, clad in your faded lilac gown.  It had been fifteen months since you last questioned anything; now, you decided as you stalked over to the couch, was not the time to start.

                You grabbed his face with both your hands as you devoured his mouth, moving a thigh between his legs to feel his hardness.  He felt larger than you at the moment, and you thought in passing how nice he would have felt inside of you until he hitched his dress up, wrapping a bare leg around your thighs.  Rocking your hips without thinking, you focused on the taste of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, how it was everything you missed about the old world.  Pulling back from Michael’s sinful and willing mouth, you pant as you slid a hand up his warm leg and under his skirt.

                “What I want,” you repeated as you clutched his hip, still unsure if the unspoken contract stood.  Looking unfazed by the situation, Michael simply nodded before turning around to bend over the couch, gathering the dress above his pale, muscular ass.  Chuckling darkly, you take a step back before landing a swat to his right cheek.  He turned his head to look back, raising an eyebrow as if to tell you to get on with the deed.  “What I want,” you said in a low voice, running a knuckle along his crack to his hole, “is to see you do the hard work.”  Your knuckle brushed against his hole; he’d managed to prep himself already.  You untangled the skirt from his hand as you move to lay down on the sofa, propping yourself up on your elbows.  He followed, flexing his fingers again before straddling your lap.  You quickly reached down, reassuringly feeling slick on your hardness before letting Michael slide down.  You felt his motions, the up and down pressing nubs against your clit and inner walls, taking the breath out of you.  He found a steady rhythm, rising and falling with increasing urgency as you splayed your hand against his hip.  Soon, you thrusted up to meet him, causing his smile to falter and his breathing to quicken.  Smiling, you rucked up his skirt to expose his cock and wrapped a hand around it to lazily stroke it as short, quiet moans left his lips.

                “Pretty thing,” you praised, feeling heat begin to pool inside you.  He leaned forward, bracing himself with a hand by your head as he dipped to brush his lips against yours.  Panting, you lift your lips to meet his, sliding your tongue back into his mouth.  His moans turned into needier whimpers as you sped your hand up, his weight pushing back into you intensely.  You realized how long it had been since your last orgasm as you feel it creep up on you, making your thrusts uneven and pulling you back from his mouth.  You felt him smile and his hand move against your hip, and damn if you didn’t feel the dildo inside of you start to vibrate.  Free hand back on his hip, you thrusted hard as you felt your orgasm coming closer, gripping Michael’s hardness tighter and stroking with abandon.  He sat back up on his heels, giving you a picture you swore you’d hold with you until the end; head thrown back, gasping with pleasure as he rode you to your climax.  The air rushed from your lungs, trying not scream and alert anyone outside to the lasciviousness inside.  Soon, Michael let out a broken noise and wet heat covered your hand.  The thrusts stopped and he collapsed forward, hair wildly mingling with yours.  You smiled as you tried to even your breathing, stroking flaxen hair and closing your eyes to soak in the sensation you felt so starved of.

                It had been minutes, hours, seconds, when you heard a throat clearing and your eyes snapped open.  Finding yourself seated back in the armchair, you quickly went from liquid to the now-default rigidity that ruled the bunker.  You felt your gloves, your dress back on and found Michael seated behind the desk again, clad in his original dark garb.  As you came back, you watched Michael stand and hold out a hand to you, helping you rise from the chair.  The smile was back.

                “That will be all,” he said, voice showing no wear or change in tone.  “Thank you for your cooperation.”  You looked down, scanning your dress for any evidence of…something.  Something you couldn’t place but felt in your soul.

                You opened your mouth, searching for words to speak, before closing to the same polite smile and nod that served you well in the bunker.  Moving to the door, you looked back before rolling it open.  Michael was back behind the desk, looking at papers.  “Should I send in someone else?” you asked, voice surprisingly even.  He looked up, eyes glistening brightly.

                “I will inform the next candidate of their time,” he replied, not looking up.  You quickly exited the room, not certain about what actually transpired in the room but feeling more sated than you had since coming to the outpost.


End file.
